


Laundromat

by MissBayliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: Sam and Dean are sick, and play cards in their underwear in a laundromat.





	Laundromat

Sam and Dean sat dripping water onto damp towels covering the impala’s upholstery. The wind picked up outside and sent a tree's spindly limbs tapping eerily on the car's windows. 

Dean used an old t-shirt to wipe the mud off his face, pausing to direct a wet sneeze into it. 

" _Hh'PTSCH!_ "

"Did you have to jump in the lake?" Sam moaned, clipping his sentence with a sniff. 

Dean threw the muddy, now snotty, shirt in the back seat and coughed raggedly into his arm. 

"You're welcome," he grumbled, a shiver running through him. 

Sam sighed, grabbing a tissue from the box on the seat between them. 

" _Hih'TSCHT_!" Sam blew his nose, listening to Dean's crackling breathing beside him. 

"We need'a get cleaned up," he croaked, eyes still fiery with adrenaline from their recent victory. 

"All our clothes are gross, Dean. We have nothing clean or dry."

Dean started the car, sneezing again into his wrist, "Alright. Let's hope there's a laundromat in town." 

 

...

 

Dean killed the engine in front a rundown, faded blue laundromat in a deserted strip mall. It was the only building with lights still on. Floor to ceiling glass windows the length of the store and boasting 24hr self serve washers and dryers. 

Sam raised his eyebrows and cast his brother a hopeful glance. 

Dean just buried his face in his elbow and coughed until he saw stars. 

Sam shouldered the bags of laundry as they squelched into the harshly bright, almost musty smelling room. 

“I’ll put it on,” Dean croaked, voice uneven, thick and whispy at the same time. 

“Sit down,” Sam grumbled, pushing his brother gently towards the folding table. 

“You’re sick too,” Dean grumbled, shucking off his wet jacket. 

Sam sniffed and pushed his wrist up underneath his nose, “Yeah but I’m not rocking a fever.”

Dean scooted up onto the table as he unbuttoned his next layer, “I don’t have a fever.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean looked away, annoyed. 

Sam was halfway through sorting the laundry when he had to stop. 

“ _Hi’tschuuwh! He’kxchueuh!_ ” Sniffing, Sam turned around, hand still shoved against his nose, “Dude,” he sniffed thickly again, “Did you leave the tissues in the car?” 

Dean was struggling to undo his boot laces and stopped, “Um...”

“Man, you had one job.” 

Dean sniffed sympathetically and stopped trying to remove his boots, “I’ll get it.”

Sam sighed, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead, “No, stay there.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean groaned, “Just get the clothes in the damn machine. I’ll get it.”

Sam sighed again as somehow he’d managed to upset his brother. 

He went back to sorting as Dean lumbered out into the wind. 

He shoved the dark load into the machine and poured in a generous helping of washing powder, setting the cycle to hot/intensive. 

When he turned back around and Dean still wasn’t back he peered through the window, finding Dean sitting in the gutter, back hunched but moving rapidly as he coughed like a jackhammer. 

Sam hurried out and put a hand to Dean’s back, “You okay?”

Dean was gripping the tissue box in one hand and his head with the other. 

“Got dizzy...”

Sam rubbed up and down his spine. 

“Think I have pneumonia.”

“Come on,” Sam said, gripping Dean’s bicep. 

The two staggered back through the doors to the chorus of their coughs and sniffles. 

Sam shoved the other load in the second machine and helped his brother out of his soaking boots and socks. 

Dean’s feet were white and wrinkled. 

“Man, always change your socks. What did dad teach us?”

“Was kinda busy... fighting monsters.”

Sam straightened and the world tilted on its axis. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder to steady himself.  

“Dizzy?” Dean asked. 

Sam cleared his throat, “Yeah,” he rubbed his forehead, “Your head pounding too?”

Dean ripped a tissue from the box, “Oh yeah... _Heh’CHXTTT! Huh’IESHSHHWEUHhh!_ ” 

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

Both boys stripped down to their boxers and added their soaked clothes into the already spinning machines. 

Dean shivered, body still damp. 

They both sat on the edge of the folding table for a while, alternating between sneezing, blowing, and coughing. Dean’s cough sounding suspiciously like pneumonia already. 

Without clothes on, they could see all the muscles in their chest and stomach clench and spasm and ripple with chills. 

Sam was blowing his nose for the thousandth time when he heard a strange clicking noise. It was subtle and rapid. He looked around, furrowing his brow. 

Dean folded his arms tightly in front of his chest and sighed, the clicking pausing briefly then starting up again. 

Sam stared at his brother, “Dude, are your teeth chattering?” 

Dean sniffed indignantly then suddenly turned away to cough. He coughed so hard that by the end of it he hit his gag reflex. Sam could see by the way his stomach clenched. 

Sam put a hand to his bare back. 

“Jesus, Dean.”

“What?” Dean turned back, bleary eyed and red faced. He shuddered again, teeth chattering wildly. 

“God, you’re gonna get so sick,” Sam mumbled. 

“Thought I already was,” Dean’s shaking hand grabbed more tissues. 

“Well, yeah, I mean worse than that.” 

Dean just shrugged. 

Sam sighed and directed a short clipped cough into his fist. 

“ _Huh’EXCHSTU! Heh’KKSCSHHT! … hhh.. Huh’PTSCHTtuuh_!” Dean crumpled into an already wet tissue, trying to ration the supplies. 

Sam frowned. 

“ _Huh’CCHHXT! ... God…_ ” 

“Wait here,” Sam said, getting off the table and heading towards the door.

Dean’s eyes widened, “Dude! You can’t go outside like that!”

Sam put his arms out wide, “Dean, it’s the middle of the night. No one’s around. And besides, the whole place is made of windows, whether we’re inside or outside, people are gonna see us.”

Dean made a face like that thought hadn’t occurred to him at all. Sam smirked and braced himself to head out into the cold wind.

His bare feet slapping the concrete sidewalk, Sam headed for the impala’s trunk. 

“ _Hih’tsssschht_! Urgh, ” Sam wiped his nose on the back of his wrist.

Peering into the trunk, it took him a while to find everything he wanted, but he smiled to himself, knowing the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Dean was coughing again when he came back in. The cough was bubbling and thick, sounding like he’d inhaled some of the fetid lake water he’d so readily jumped in. 

“Jeez, ya’alright?” Sam muttered, crossing the room and spreading the woolen blanket out across Dean’s shivering shoulders.

“Starting to… regret… jumping in the lake,” Dean groaned, his voice catching. It would be gone by morning if he kept coughing like that.

His hands wrapped around the edges of the blanket and he pulled it close. 

“Aw, come on, man. You made the right call. But maybe we should lay low for a while now.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his blanketed hand back and forth under his nose. 

Sam sat back on the folding table, legs crossed and the other blanket snug over his shoulders, facing Dean, where he sat much the same way. 

Dean coughed again into the blanket, sweat forming on his brow. He glanced up at his brother, “Got a way to pass the time?”

Sam smiled and held up the small, beaten up box in his hand.

Dean went to speak but a cough stole his words before he could say them. 

“Go fish?” Sam asked, with a smirk.

Dean recovered and looked back at Sam, “Are you seven? Why not poker?”

Sam’s eyelids drooped, “I’m not playing poker with you.”

Dean smirked, but looked resigned with a hint of contentment. 

“Your deal,” Dean spoke gruffly, clearing his throat, “God, my throat is killing me.” 

Sam winced in sympathy, clearing his own throat. He had a feeling neither of them would be doing much talking for the next few days. 

Dean pulled the blanket tighter watching Sam deal, relaxing into the fabric and, finally, not shivering.

The blankets smelt like their dad, the impala, each other. To the gentle hum and roll of the working machines the room filled with warmth. Sam was sure Dean had cards he said he didn’t have, but he didn’t call him out. Chances were Dean didn’t even know half the cards he had, but that didn’t matter. They played on, coughing, sneezing, sniffling, and wheezing, while the laundry spun. It wasn’t the best night they’d ever had… but it was _by far_ not the worst. 

 

** End. **


End file.
